


A Christm- 'IT'S CALLED SMISSMAS, NOW!' Story

by TheeWrites_TF2



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: A Smissmas Story, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Christmas Presents, First Christmas for the Mercs, Holidays, Mild Language, Team Bonding, Team Fortress Comics, and the Teufort mall, apologies to reindeers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13107609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheeWrites_TF2/pseuds/TheeWrites_TF2
Summary: Ah, December! A time of spirit, candy-canes and battling reindeer... Wait, huh?What exactly was RED doing in the events of 'A Smissmas Story' comic?Well, they certainly gave the BLU's a run for their money in public-destruction of property, for starters...





	A Christm- 'IT'S CALLED SMISSMAS, NOW!' Story

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Christmas/Smissmas gift to this wonderful fandom, I hope you guys enjoy while you're stuffing yourself silly with gingerbread, candy-canes and eggnog!!!
> 
> (Warnings: Language, slight mentions of violence, apologies to the evil!reindeer, smart-assery, naked Soldier, alcohol mentions, Scout and Sniper non-stop bickering and bitching with each other, and SMISSMAS! Welcome to Team Fortress!)

 

 

**_Happy Holidays!!!_ **

* * *

 

The unholy screeching, that sounded vaguely akin ceremonial incanting,  that echoed and bounced off the walls of the base, unsurprisingly woke everyone up. Even from the soundproof smoking room Spy had laid claim to, there was an unmistakable, irritated groan from the Frenchman inside, as well as a muffled vow of French revenge. A sandy-haired young man poked his head out into the hallway, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Sol, would ya shut up and go back ta sleep?” Scout whined, then shuddered as he took a step out from warm, cozy room… Immediately launching back in, when he noticed how COLD the floor was. “Ach, th’ hell…?” He glared at the ground, taking notice of the shiny glean to the floor. “...Is tha’...frost?” He murmured in utter disbelief, before darting back into the safety of his room to pull on boots and grab his comforter. Wrapping the huge, puffy comforter around his shoulders as a cloak, he quietly padded out of his room, grumbling darkly. “I swear, if someone left th’ damn window open…

Scout paused outside of Snipers room, knocking. “Yo, get up. I don’ wanna face Sol alone, it’s too risky!” He insisted, and, after an irritated growl and several shuffling sounds from within Sniper’s winter room, the Australian cracked open the door. Sniper paused, running his unimpressed gaze over his teammate, before snorting, “Cold much?” He asked, taking note that only the Bostonian's face was visible from the thick bundle the boy had wrapped himself in, which puffed out and made the boy almost as big as the team's Heavy. Scout stuck his tongue out at the slightly-older man. “Shut it, and come with me.”

Sniper rolled his eyes, reaching back in to grab a quick button-up, tossing it on. “Fine, fin- HELL!” The Australian cried out as he stepped out of the safety of his room, onto the slick, frost covered floor. Scout merely stepped back as the man stumbled, before sprawling onto the cold floor with a curse. “Oh yea’, think someone musta cracked a window open or somethin’.” He said nonchalantly, and Sniper offered up a glare. “Gee, thanks for the warnin’.” He snarled, stumbling back up onto his feet. The Bostonian made no move to help him, only watched tiredly, giving a small yawn.

Sniper eventually made in back into the safety of his room and grabbed his boots, before storming out to glare at the boy. 

“...What?” Scout asked innocently, and Sniper rolled his eyes, stomping down the hallway. “C’mon, drongo, let’s see what ol’ Faithful is doin’. Then we can go back to sleep.” He insisted, heading towards the direction the screeching had come from, a mass of red comforter and Bostonian following him obediently. “Hey, ain’t it really warm down in Aussie?” Scout asked curiously. Sniper gave him a side-eyed glance, “Yeah?” 

“Okay, so, aren’t ya cold? Ya just got on a shirt and boxers?”

“Mate, i’m literally freezing to death as we speak, and ya talkin’ ‘bout the cold is only makin’ me  _ colder _ . So, please, _ shut it _ .”

Scout blinked, and glanced over the man, seemingly only now becoming aware of how much the Australian was literally vibrating with shivers next to him. “Aw man… ya, uh, wanna share my blanket?” He offered weakly, and Sniper gave him a pause.

“... Are ya wearin’ clothes under there?”

“...Uh…”

“I’ll pass, weirdo.”

Scout rolled his eyes, “Wha’, Soldier’s the one who walks ‘round butt-naked, least i’ve got on boxers!” He snapped in defense, then paused, looking down into the depths within his blanket-cloak…. “...Yeah, ‘m covered.” He informed the Australian after a moment, sounding almost proud of the fact. Sniper huffed, then rubbed his hands together, making a note to personally smack the man who left the damn window open. Scout rolled his eyes, “Man, just go back to ya room and grab a coat, ya makin’ ME colder!” He snapped, and Sniper glared. “Nah, keepin’ movin’ is the only thing that’s keepin’ me from freezin’ ta death right now!” He snapped, charging onward towards the base’s kitchen. 

“Fine,” Scout grumbled, padding quickly after him. “But, imma get ya a coat for the season, ‘cause ya ALWAYS try charging’ ahead, sayin’ ya fine- AND YA CLEARLY AREN’ FINE- so imma grab ya a nice, thick Bostonian coat for Chri-” He froze, eyes narrowed. “Wait… Dammit, I know why Sol was so pumped up this mornin!” He snapped, charging forward towards the kitchen doors, in a thick mass of red comforter. “It’s CHRISTMAS, that’s wh-”

“ **_IT’S CALLED SMISSMAS, BOY!_ ** ” Soldier roared, suddenly swinging the kitchen doors out and sending the Scout flying when he was unexpectedly  _ THWACKED _ by said door. Sniper only had time to yelp before the mass of blanket and Scout hurtled into him, and both men went tumbling onto the floor with twin groans of pain. Soldier ignored their groans, putting his kitchen-mitted fists on his hips. “You two, up! Today is a day of true celebration, victory, and NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO WALLOW ON THE GROUND IN PAIN!” He snapped, and both Scout and Sniper gave each other a look, both debating on rather it was worth it to see what the American man was doing, or to sit in the cold hallway and wait until respawn picked them up. 

Then Sniper felt a wave of warmth radiating from inside the kitchen, and promptly tossed the younger man off his body, in favor of darting into the warm room and halting the hypothermia process. Scout let out a yelp, and groaned from within his comforter mass when he landed harshly back onto the ground. Soldier waited impatiently at the door, tapping his booted feet, and, after an additional moment of pained groaning, the comforter heap began to inch it’s way toward the open doors of the kitchen, looking remarkably like a fat red inch-worm.

“Son, you look like a pathetic, fat red inch-worm, and I am compelled to stomp on you.”

“Please don’t, it’s only seven-thirty...” 

Scout made his way into the room, and sighed in content, collapsing within his heat when he heard the doors slam shut behind him. “Ya got a fire goin’ or something?” He asked, snuggling within his bundle. Soldier scoffed, “Fireplaces are for sissies and for Hallmark specials! No, I am currently cooking up the Smissmas reindeer!” Scout didn’t register the words for a moment or two, then his eyes shot open. “Ya cookin’ WHAT?!” He cried, leaping up and gazing around the room, praying that Soldier was only exaggerating…

Sniper was currently going to second base with the oven, snuggling next to it for warmth. Above him on the stovetop, two pots were currently boiling away, one looking like fairly normal soup, and the other currently contained two huge antlers, boiling away in a pot of water. On the counter, there was a bowl full of gingerbread dough, an uncooked pie, another bowl that held four cleaned, polished hooves, and a bag held quite the large helping of bullets and shells.

Scout drew his attention to the oven. “Sol, please tell me ya didn’t kill a reindeer and are cookin’ it for Christmas dinner.” He begged, and Soldier scoffed, “Of course not! This is our holiday breakfast, for SMISSMAS!” He insisted, and Scout rolled his eyes, turning to the older, crazier man. “Okay, first of, why do ya keep… sayin’... Please tell me there is clothes under that apron.” Scout immediately averted his eyes when he became aware that, besides the oven mitts and a flashy, ornament themed apron, there appeared to be nothing else covered the Soldier’s body. “Of course there is not, boy!” Soldier stated naturally, shooing him aside to stir the normal-looking pot. “Clothes are simply a distraction, and you cannot be distracted while cooking reindeer, it requires all of your concentration!” 

Sniper, not at a normal temperature, raised a brow but kept his eyes closed. “Reindeer, eh? Ya boilin’ the antlers?” He asked casually, and Soldier nodded. “Of course! Boiling them at full-heat!” Sniper frowned, shaking his head. “Nah, ya gotta slow-cook the antlers, minimal heat. Makes ‘em softer…”

“Bah, are you the one wearing the apron, son?!” Soldier snapped defensively, pointing the spoon down at the Australian, who merely shrugged. “Nah, but ‘m just saying, slow-cooking makes ‘em nice and tender, ya can’t rush the process, mate.”

“Think you know more about cooking festive caribou, Brit?! If so, then why don’t you wear the apron?!” 

Sniper had his eyes closed, top invested in snuggling beside the warm oven to realize why accepting Soldiers offer was a VERY bad idea for all parties, and shrugged. “Eh, ‘right then.” He said, and simply held his hand out.

Scout shrieked in horror and covered his face when Soldier shucked off his apron, his ONLY coverage, and tossed it at the Australian, storming over to the kitchen table with an irritated grumble. Sniper shrugged and simply turned down the heat on the stove top, before relaxing back against the oven, basking in its warmth like a lazy cat. Soldier propped his feet onto the table, folding his arms behind his head with a sigh. “My job has been taken from me, Scout. By a Brit.” He said mournfully, but Scout only shook his head, face still covered. “That sucks, but ‘m currently focusin’ on avoidin’ traumatizin’ myself for life, _ again. _ Please, just put on some clothes, i’ve already accidentally seen enough of your junk for one lifetime.” He insisted, and Soldier scoffed.

“I was attempting to educate you on the peak physical form of a man! Since you did not listen, I had to visibly show you!”

“Yea’, but in the middle of the BATTLE, Sol?! God, I missed like, eight shots because of that image! ‘m scarred for LIFE, thanks ta ya!”

“Excellent, that means you will cease to forget my lecture!”

It was at this moment that Engineer stumbled in, pausing briefly to glance around the sight of reindeer bones boiling in a pot, Sniper dozing beside a smoking oven, a naked Soldier, Scout wrapped in a humongous comforter, and a bullet-shells decorated Christmas tree in the corner of the room. After processing this, Engie merely shrugged and went to go pick up his coffee. “Mornin’ boys,” He gave a nonchalant wave, as he refilled the coffee pot, glancing down at the lazed Australian. “Two sugars, slim?” The Texan asked casually, pausing to wave a hand through the smoke that was starting to billow from the closed oven door. Sniper gave him a thumbs up. “Am I on fire yet?”

“Nah, but ya might want to move before flames start leaping out ‘atcha.” Engineer cautioned as he handed the man his cup of joe. Sniper nodded in thanks, shuffling a few feet from the fireplace. “By the way,” He started, taking a long sip from his drink. “Think heater must been broken or the like, there was bloody FROST in the corridor.” He complained, and the Texan took a minute to think over this information, taking his seat across from Soldier. Engie made a conscious effort to avoid looking directly at the American. 

“Nah, that can’ be right,” He concluded firmly, taking a sip from his own mug. “If ya had heat in the room, then the generator is still runnin’ clean. Must be a window or something.” Soldier had begun to tune into the conversation and nodded, “Yes! I left the window cracked after dragging home Bashing!” He pointed towards the reindeer that was cooking in the oven, and Scout raised a brow. “Ya mean Dasher, right? Sorry to say, but I don’ think there’s a doe in the pack named ‘ _ Bashin’ _ .” “Technically, their bucks, not doe’s” Sniper piped up from his spot, and Engineer nodded affirmably. Scout snorted, taking the farthest seat from Soldier, “Whateva’, the point it, this numbskull-” A point at Soldier, “-has his holiday backwards! Callin’ it Smissmas and whatnot…”

“The Smissmas season is no joke, private!” Soldier snapped, suddenly producing a newspaper to throw onto the table. “While these sonovabitch BLU’s have few redeeming qualities, I’ll admit that their efforts to reveal an entire WAR are,” He sighed, looking greatly irritated about what he was about to say, gritting his teeth, “ _ Appreciated _ .” Scout picked up the newspaper, snorting “Damn, they didn’ get the chair? Thatsa load of bull.” He complained, glaring at the smug, cheery faces of the three BLU idiots, before jabbing a finger at a familiar, oh-so-punchable face. “Look, the brat from BLU is stealin’ my thunder, and takin’ all the chicks!” He cried, visibly pissed and he shoved the paper towards the Texan. “Look, it’s a blonde too!” Scout whined, and Engineer leaned over to appraise the front-headline photo.

“Pretty sure that’s a ring on her finger…”

“What the hell, she’s married too?!” Scout snapped the photo back, snarling at the BLU Scout in the photo. “That slimy, hair-gelling, blonde  **_brat_ ** , he’s makin’ me look like a beginner in the romance game!” Sniper snorted from his spot on the kitchen floor, “Oh, so you're still playin’?”  He crowed, and Scout flipped him off with his insulted response. “Says Mr  _ ‘it’s-not-called-sleepin’-alone, it’s-called-independence, wanka! _ ’ Everyone present winced at the Bostonians attempt at an Australian accent. “Urgh, please don’t do that again, “ Engie pleaded, taking back the newspaper to read it. “So, the ‘ _ War on Smissmas, _ ’ hm?” Soldier nodded enthusiastically. “Correct! While I admit, the thought of teaming up with those goddamn BLU ninnies makes my blood boil, I believe our squardren can hold out our own and emerge on top as the victors of this bloody conflict!”

Scout leaned over to read over the Texan geniuses shoulder, “Against  _ ‘Ol’ Nick, his army of rabid, eggnog-drunken deers and his infinite army  of gingerbread-men weilding submontoic peppermint launchers?’ _ ” He repeated the line from the article slowly, and both American men gave Soldier a glance for confirmation. “ _ Yes! _ ” He shouted, leaping to his feet, cueing a groan of dismay from Scout and a quick glance away from Engineer. “Men, I’ll admit, the holiday season is a festive time and a time to be present with the Miss’s and the Mr’s of your life, but as WARRIORS, we are compelled by honor and duty to forego these sissy, civilian-like activites and FIGHT!” As Soldier gave his inspiration speech, Sniper let out a sharp yelp as flames began leaping from the oven, not in red and orange of normal flames, but in a bright red, white and green plumes. He grabbed Soldiers discarded apron and began beating back the flames, “Could use some help ‘ere!” Sniper insisted, but was promptly ignored.

At this point, several more teammates shuffled in, including the ex-doctor and a grouchy Russian mountain, shortly followed by a half-asleep Demoman. All three took a look at the scene before them. “Bad morning, ja?” Medic asked, raising a brow at the image before him. “Ah, men, right on time!” Soldier said with glee, “We are going to war, men, and I need you all to be at the ready!” Engineer sighed and simply handed the three men the newspaper, in which all three of the non-Americans crowded together to look it over.

“War, yae say?” Demo grumbled, raising a brow. “It’s only eight in da mornin’, Soldier! I ain’t bloody ready tah start blowin’ up-” He paused to glare at the newspaper, “ _ ‘-sleighs ‘n snowmen!’  _ Gotta call me mum first, wish her a merry holiday!”

“Which is why I have prepared the perfect pre-war meal for you ungrateful slobs!” Soldier said proudly, striding into the currently-flaming kitchen. Sniper took the opportunity to escape, darting around and away from that side of the room and staying a safe distance away next to scout. “What, too warm now?” Scout teased as the taller man went to go open a window. “What are ya, Goldilocks?” 

Soldier ignored the jeering and taunts from the two youngest on the team, and happily put his ceremonial apron on his person, ignoring the frayed and charred edges here and there. “After reading that front-page story, I took it upon myself to break into the Teufort mall to gather the remains of Old Nick’s chariot-pullers! Thankfully, there was still one left alive, and men!” He turned and grinned wildly. “You missed one  _ HELL _ of a tussle! Went through respawn around three times, I did, had to haul ass back to the ruins of the mall to finish the battle!”

At this point, everyone was either half-heartedly listening to Soldiers ‘ _ brave _ ’ tale, or flat out ignoring him and picking their way through the burning kitchen, grabbing proper breakfast foods that were only slightly aflame.

“By the time the conflict has ceased, I also managed to destroy those hippie-tween shops near the food court,  _ GOOD RIDDANCE! _ ” Engineer suddenly perked up from his seat, as if he just remembered something, and, abandoning his mug of java, quickly leaving the room to go towards his own chambers, unbeknownst to everyone. “You cooked up deer?” Heavy asked, looking down at the over-boiling pot of antlers. “Nah, this wasn’t any old buck, Red!” Soldier proudly stated, ignoring Heavy’s look of quiet disapproval when he slung an arm around the Mountain-Man’s shoulder. “This caribou was a MONSTER, let me tell you! Fought me like I just slapped it’s Nana, and it smelled like a mixture of burnt peppermint, the screams of children’s horrors and pine, but it was still not quite a match for me… Still, one hell of a fight!” He shoved the Russian out of the way, whistling as he grabbed a spoon to stir up the innocent soup pot, while the oven roared mere inches away from his calves. “Anyway, after I threw the beast through the skylight, I dragged it home to cook up as pre-war breakfast! Oh, Old Nick will be quaking in his boots, when he sees us gnawing on the bones of one of his top bucks-!”

“I am NOT eating any reindeer,  _ Herr _ Soldier.” Medic snapped, looking absolutely appalled at the thought. “ _ Gott, _ did you even clean out zhe glass shards before shoving it in?!”

“Of course not, all meat needs a little crunch in it!”

Scout peeked over at the oven, sending up a silent thank you that he couldn’t see what horrors lie inside. “Well, it’s probably charred ta the  _ bones _ by now, so I don’t think the glass will be the worst of ya problems.” He piped up, and Engineer stode back in, Pyro following behind, ironically holding a stuffed reindeer plushie, that was NOT aflame quite yet. Engie was dragging behind a large bag behind him, and with a huff, placed it onto the table while his teammates watched with interest. 

“Now, while Jane finishes up the uh…  _ holiday meal _ ,” He picked his words carefully, sending a unsettled glance towards the cheery man in the holiday apron. “I know we’ve been workin’ together, only for a few months now, but I still thought it would be a nice lil’ thing to, get y’all a little somethin’ for the holidays.” Everyone at the table perked up curiously, looking eager. “Woah, like _ Christmas _ presents?!” Scout grinned eagerly, at least until Soldier threw his wooden stirring spoon and made a bullseye on the Bostonian's face. “It’s called _ SMISSMAS _ , you half-blooded  _ maggot! _ ”

“Ack,  _ go screw ya self _ , Sol!”

“Ahem!” Engineer snapped, glaring over at the younger man. “Listen, I don’t care if y’all don’ feel like gettin’ along today, because you WILL, if I got anything to say about it.” He looked each and every merc in the eyes, jabbing a finger at each one. “No. Fighting. Today. It’s. A. Goddamn. Holiday.” As a side-note, he jabbed a finger at Soldier. “And if we ain’t fightin’ today for MannCo., then I ain’t fightin’ nothin’ but the urge to drink myself silly with grandma’s eggnog.”

“But-!”

“Nope, ain’t happenin’.” Engineer stated calmly, rustling through the bag and began to hand out the presents to its respective merc. “Now turn off the heat in the oven before we lose the kitchen again.” Soldier grumbled but obeyed, and the multicolored flames jetting out from the kitchen appliance came to a halt, and the room became a little less like a living recreation of the fiery depths of hell. Heavy gingerly took his present, a small stack of books with chrisp new lettering and a bow tying them all together. “Engineer did not have to do this.” He insisted, narrowing eyes at the Texan. “Only worked together for short time.”

Engie shrugged, handing off Sniper a brand new leather, fang-lined hat that made the Australian whistle in amazement. “Ach, well… Tradition back at home is to give out presents, and since none of us could go, myself included… thought I’d make it a bit better.” The mercs seated looked at each other, a bit surprised at Engineers openness. While it was no secret that Engie was the more ‘team-building,’ friendlier merc on the base to his fellow RED’s, most of them brush off his Southern hospitality.

They blew other people up for a living, what do you expect?

They had also only just started working together, earlier in the summer of this year, so while the pre-team tensions had faded away, they weren’t all completely chummy with each-other quite yet. Engineers act of kindness suddenly left the others feeling… crappy, to say the least.

“H-hey, Sol!” Scout shouted, looking over at the America, before quickly adjusting his gaze. “Ya said the mall was pretty much destroyed, yeah?” Soldier puffed out his chest proudly, nodding as he cradled the brand-spanking-new helmet filled with welded, handmade medals  tightly to his chest. “Affirmative! The mall-kids that flood those hippy-playing, flashy tween shops will be out of their supply of hairspray and high-tops for months!” Scout looked around the table, grinning. “Okay, then who’s in to do some late-holiday ‘ _ shopping _ ’?” He used air-quotes, and everyone at the table slowly grinned when they understood the hidden meaning behind his words... except for Pyro, who offered a thumbs-up.

“Ach, ‘he BLU’s got their rat-faces in ‘he paper… Let’s have a go at it, show ‘em up!”

“Ja, I can finally get mein hands on the first-aid kits… bandages, how outdated!!!”

Heavy nodded enthusiastically, setting down his book sack, “Yes, there is bookstore on third floor. Expensive, locked cabinets with good books… Mall is already destroyed, they will not miss them.” Sniper gave his hum of approval, still admiring his new hat. Everyone turned to look at Engineer, the only one on the team who had the, _ arguably _ , most morality left in him.

But he only grinned, and nodded, “Let’s celebrate Christmas-” “ _ SMISSMAS! _ ” “- _ Smissmas _ , RED style.” Pyro clapped enthusiastically, a muffled giggling sounding from within their suit. There was a gagged gasp from the doorway suddenly, and everyone turned.

Spy, clad in a velvet bedrobe, and his signature mask, gloves and suit pants glared about the room, eyebrow twitching as he took in the destroyed kitchen, the stench in the air, and the fact that only five out of the eight mercenaries before him were fully clothed. “ _ Mon dieu _ , are you TRYING to pollute ze base?!” He hissed, grabbing the wooden spoon and slashing through the smoke overhead, in an attempt to dilute the cloud while he made his way over the group. Soldier leaped up, “Ah, good morning, you spineless bastard!” He said cheerfully. “Go grab your stabby and your kit, we’re going to pillage the nearly-demolished mall of Teufort!”

Spy raised an unimpressed brow at this statement, and turned to the labourer to get the full story, but the other Mercs were already filing out of the room.

“I go grab Sascha. Full times at food-court.”

“Aye, grab yae weapons lads! It’s destroyed ‘ready, wha’s the point of a lil’ more smoke ‘round the place?”

“‘M in, but  **_some of us_ ** should put some clothes on...”

“Hey, speak for ya-self, Mr. ‘ _ I-ain’t-cold-but-imma-bitch-’bout-it-for-an-hour-Mundy! _ ”

“Urgh, what’d we say about doing a ‘stralian accent?!’

“Both of you are sissies! When _ I _ spend two years training in Canada,” “ _ Oh god, not the frickin’ CANADA saga again…! _ ” “I had nothing but a loincloth made of pine leaves, my bare hands and a-!”

Spy tuned out the ridiculous, exaggerated part seventeen of the dubbed ‘ _ Soldier Saga _ ’ and turned to Engineer with a raised brow. The brow went further up when he caught sight of  the small, burgundy-wrapped box in the Texan’s hands. “Laboureur, what is zhis?” He deadpanned, not making the motion to take it. Engie only smiled slightly. “Just a lil’ somethin’ for the holiday’s. Ya can throw it into the garbage when I walk out, but just be a lil’ decent and at least take the damn thin’.” He stated, and Spy narrowed his eyes, scanning the shorter man’s form. ‘...Non, not a spy,’ He thought, and picked up the box with two fingers, inspecting it carefully as the Texan moved around him to head out.

Scout jogged back in, wearing a top-large t-shirt over his shoulders, his boxers and his trusted bat in his hand. “Yo, frenchie, ya comin’ to wreck the mall or what?!” He asked impatiently. “Legs is already startin’ the car!” Spy, now clad in his normal pinstripe suit, a small mug decorated with the eiffel tower and baguettes in his hand. Spy snorted slightly, “Please, zhat mall is for minimum-wage blemished teens and the elderly.” Spy took a small sip from his new mug, and Scout tapped his foot impatiently.

The RED Spy then lowered the mug from his face, a small smirk appearing. “Though, the show would be a delightful way to begin the holiday.” Scout grinned, turning and calling down the hallway, “Yo, he’s in!” A celebratory whooped sounded down the hallway, and Spy stood to go fetch his scarf...

A few moments later, he was already regretting his choice as he found himself crammed into the Bushman’s van, squashed between Medic who was swapping stories with the Scotsman about their version of St. Nick, and Scout who was loudly ‘ _ singing _ ’ Christmas carols, with Soldier screaming furiously everytime the boy refused to switch Christmas with ‘ _ Smissmas. _ ’ 

Spy was going to kill the Engineer for taking shotgun… Swiftly through, the man did give him a present, as insultitory as it was.

* * *

 

The BLU Scout whistled, massaging his new hair-gel into his scalp as he padded past the kitchen, ready for his morning cup of joe. As he passed the dining room table, he raised a brow at the sight of a newspaper on the table, and the image on the front page. Not believing his eyes, the Blu picked up the paper, and shorted at the sight.

With the Teufort mall nothing but an smoking pile of rubble in the background, the RED’s Scout and Demoman were grinning as they were dragged out of the pile by the local police force, several wrapped boxes clutched in their arms. Heavy was holding a cop at arm’s length, holding a stack of book protectively to his chest as Engie was in mid-negotiations with the head of the Police force, looking sheepish. 

The RED Medic was currently pouring some unknown liquid into one of the many open first-aid kits lying around him, grinning madly as Pyro sat happily beside a burning ‘Meet Santa’ sign, a mug clasped in their gloved hands. While the Soldier was nowhere to be officially found, there was a curious Soldier-shaped mark in a large crater nearby, smoke still billowing around it. A trip to respawn, no doubt, thought the BLU Scout, who then snorted when he saw the signature plume of smoke in the corner of the snapshot of a Spy cloaking and escaping the mayhem.

He frowned, and looked over at his team’s own front-page from half-a-week ago then looked back at the RED’s paper. “... Least we gotta chick in ours,” He grumbled, tossing the paper back onto the table, the grins and cheeriness from the RED’s faces practically radiating from off the page from the botched holiday ‘ _ outing. _ ’ of RED.

  
  


**_Happy Holidays, my friends!!! Merry Smissmas!!!_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! May the End of your 2017 be fun, cheery, and HOPEFULLY not as disastrous as the Merc's!
> 
> See you guys in 2018!!!
> 
> -Thee


End file.
